


thigh

by boybinary



Series: body on my [2]
Category: A.C.E (Beat Interactive Band), 믹스나인 | MIXNINE (TV)
Genre: :'), Established Relationship, Heels, Legs, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, but its not, leg appreciation pt 2, like id use the pwp tag if it was porn, thigh highs, ughhh the tag /seyoon/ no
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-06
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-03-14 13:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13590573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boybinary/pseuds/boybinary
Summary: byeongkwan loves sehyoon's legs, part 2.





	thigh

**Author's Note:**

> sagfsGJHDJC her e u go, the thigh high scene i supposedly promised  
> i did not read this over at all and 90% of it was written today at 3 to 4 am 
> 
> A HUGE THANK YOU TO ACECORD,  
> esp ANDREA for sending me all those thigh highs god ur a blessin  
> and chi, for hyping me up about dongjunchan and being motivating and good  
> and janita for just bein there and commenting on thigh highs yeaa
> 
> without further ado........... ........ . . enjoy!

byeongkwan loves sehyoon—

—when he’s like _this_ — perched on the bed, (beautiful, flawless, _perfect_ ) legs hanging over the side; black hair damp, clumped together in wet strands; skin soft and smelling like peaches. he loves _this_ sehyoon, _this_ one, swathed in one of his oversized tee shirts (the ones he’d bought in abundance to use as gag gifts, only to find out they got softer with every spin through the wash). lips sheeny with (was it? grapefruit?) lip gloss. cheeks flushed pink from the heating—it’s a tad on the hot side, because yuchan likes sleeping naked—though there’s a sparkle on the cheekbone, leftover from his makeup.

(he also loves all the other sehyoons— the one in front of the mirror, grinning oh-so-bright and whispering ‘yes!’ when he aces a part of the choreography. he loves the one in the shower, sing-humming blackpink’s _as if it’s your last_ as he steals from byeongkwan’s body scrub, loves the one in front of the camera, smiley and happy and less subdued than he usually is, clinging to byeongkwan’s arm. he loves the sehyoon that sighs when he’s worn out and he loves the sehyoon that clutches his hips tight enough to feel it but not enough to bruise. he loves the sehyoon that smiles at him whenever there’s a quiet moment; the sehyoon that kisses him around corners and in old storage closets and when it’s just them in the practice room.

he thinks he loves _that_ sehyoon the best, but—)

—but _this_ sehyoon, who looks up from his phone as the door opens and smiles _so beautiful_ — he loves this one too, and byeongkwan’s breath catches in his throat when he sees that smile, and when he sees what _sehyoon is wearing_ —

“sehyoon hyung, wh—what— _why_ are you wearing…” _thigh highs?_ his tongue dries around the word. usually sehyoon wears a pair of boxers and a— _someone’s_ tee shirt (more often than not, yuchan’s) and they’re all ridiculously large, ridiculously _loose_ — so much so that it’s not a surprise when byeongkwan wakes up to the shirt ridden up sehyoon’s ribs.

usually, sehyoon wears a big shirt and shorts, snug around his thighs, seams frayed slightly. usually. usually, byeongkwan crawls into bed next to him, fisting his hands in sehyoon’s big shirt of the night, pulling him close to kiss. usually he gets an eyeful of toasted cream skin, smooth and milky and _full_ in his hands. usually, he can slip his hands down along the sides of sehyoon’s legs and kiss as he goes, mouthing at the caves and dips of his muscles, before sehyoon pushes him away and tells him to ‘go to sleep, dammit’.

sehyoon laughs, sliding off the side of the bed— _for fuck’s sake_ , byeongkwan’s eyes are _stuck_ to the little black bows at the tops—and _clack_ , _clack_ , _clack_ , sehyoon’s shoes clicking against the hardwood. _kitten heels_. the expanse of tan thigh is now covered in filmy black, and— _fuck, is that **satin**_ — he (can’t _help_ but) tentatively runs a hand down the back of sehyoon’s thigh.

“do you like them?” his face is _so_ close, lips plump and glossed pink, and his voice is humming low and byeongkwan tucks his hand into sehyoon’s waist as the elder tugs at the hair at his nape, pressing a close-mouthed kiss to byeongkwan’s lips— _yup_ , _it’s grapefruit_ , byeongkwan thinks, licking at the gloss.

his fingers trail over sehyoon’s hip, down the side— on sehyoon’s hip bone is a reddening bruise, purple with tooth marks and splotchy— _beautiful_. byeongkwan loves tonguing over it and— one in a while, when it begins to fade, clenching his teeth and nails in, and laughing when sehyoon writhes and slaps his shoulder.

and he can feel— garters? thin, soft, leather straps hooked to the gauzy stockings. _snap!_ (he pulls at one, lets it go—) slipping his thumb into one, he rubs gently— he can feel the clasp, hidden beneath frill. (he knows sehyoon’s ticklish—) he can feel sehyoon stiffen, muscles pulling taut beneath the tip of his thumb. “don’t _do_ that, kwannie,” he hisses, biting byeongkwan’s lower lip.

byeongkwan just laughs.

he loves sehyoon when he’s like this— dewy hair brushing byeongkwan’s face as he nibbles on byeongkwan’s top lip, tongue minty from toothpaste; tiptoeing to tower over byeongkwan even though he’s already taller; wrapping his legs around byeongkwan’s waist, sinking into the mattress, biting his lip hard— too bad, byeongkwan can feel the hum of his moans from his throat.

“d-don’t leave any marks,” comes sehyoon’s voice, muffled by a pillow. his neck is splotched red and one clasp has come loose— byeongkwan tugs up the hem of the sock, clips the engraved pin back onto the seam, and it contrasts so _well_ , gleaming silver on black sheer on honeyed skin.

how lovely would it be, printing his fingerprints onto that skin? white, and filling rose-pink when he lets go.

tonight’s shirt is one of byeongkwan’s favourite— loose sleeves, dappled grey, and long enough to swish across his thighs. the fabric is soft to touch— to push up, to rumple, to roll his hands in. the words ‘fuck, im gay’ printed across the chest in big black block letters, half-gone from frequent washes— it still smells like the green apple detergent junhee uses. up, up, up, over sehyoon’s hips, stomach tucking in as byeongkwan pushes the shirt up—“kwannie, your hands are _cold_!”—and sucks in a breath at the garter belt— expensive leather, clinging to the curve of sehyoon’s hip, wide and climbing up to the belly button. silver hooks digging red into sehyoon’s belly, garters threaded through wide loops. rectangles of black mesh down the sides. byeongkwan pokes his fingers through the holes— sehyoon’s body is _so warm_.

sehyoon’s got an arm thrown over his face, biting into his forearm as byeongkwan mouths down his stomach— he grins a little against the searing skin, sehyoon’s always been shy— and byeongkwan doesn’t doubt he’d have both arms covering his face if his right hand wasn’t twined with byeongkwan’s. he darts his tongue out, licks a stripe up the middle— sehyoon squirms, burying his face into his arms. (byeongkwan can still see powder pink dusting down his neck— that’s enough.)

“hyung… if you keep biting your arm you’re gonna break your own rule about not leaving marks,” he murmurs, and the flush extends all the way down to a shoulder— _fuck he’s so precious_ —but after a moment, his arm comes down and byeongkwan links his cold fingers with sehyoon’s clammy ones. (on his arm, there’s an oval shape, bitten crimson, teeth marks turning a shade of red-purple. byeongkwan thinks it’s beautiful— no, scratch that— he thinks _sehyoon_ is beautiful.)

both of sehyoon’s hands clasped in his, byeongkwan moves down down again— mouths at the garter belt _it’s so pretty on sehyoon_ , and it tastes like cold and smells like men’s cologne and there is the underlying scent, taste, _feel_ of sehyoon, like peaches and mangoes and exotic fruits and summer, and— and honey, brown sugar, cinnamon spice— byeongkwan’s never been good with his scents, he just knows that sehyoon smells _good_.

the silver clasp is cold on his tongue (sehyoon shudders, lets out a whimper. “k-kwannie… you aren’t gonna take those off with your _mou_ — aah…”) and the clasp is relatively easy to undo— smooth fishhook clasps, they slip out easily with a few nudges of the tongue. (sehyoon’s nails dig into his palms. a soft groan.) drag the strap out of the wide loop, and the hem sags down, thin fabric loosening. (byeongkwan wonders— how would sehyoon be, if he couldn’t use his hands to muffle his noises? how would sehyoon be if they didn’t have to keep quiet in fear of waking the hyungs next door? he wonders— a plain black tie? blank white? or ropes, black and white twisted silk? navy blue? plum?) one by one, the clasps loosen, and the stocking droops down his thigh.

he trails his nose down the thigh high— they’re so impossibly silken, thin and _fragile_ he’s afraid he’s going to rip them. sehyoon’s hand tightens around his— if that were possible, knuckles blushing white. the gauzy black crumples down at sehyoon’s left knee, a row of garters laid haphazardly down the bed.

byeongkwan tugs the strap up, up, up, away from the leg, the belt and stocking dragging close before— **_snap!_** this time it’s louder, a stripe of white before it blushes pink, and a cry that slips from sehyoon’s mouth— short, “aah—!” before he has his wrist in between his teeth again, glaring at byeongkwan through hazy eyes.

tick, tock. the clock on the wall points to ten, to two. byeongkwan bites down on the clasp, pops it open, drags his fingers over sehyoon’s thigh, slipping the last garter out of its d-loop. sehyoon’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, and he yawns, rubs his eyes. shivers a little, because byeongkwan’s fingers are still cold, smoothing his thumb over the silver clasp, setting the leather strap in the pile.

and he sits on his heels for a minute, two, three, five minutes— the stockings are loose and pool around by the knee and the bows wink up at byeongkwan like the stars in the sky, tiny sparkles glimmering in the lamplight, in the moonlight. bright puddles highlight sehyoon’s legs in shades of orange and peach and tan and the red marks seem to glow rose-gold in the light and— six minutes, seven minutes, fifteen. sixteen minutes and he slides the socks off sehyoon’s legs, hanging them over the desk chair, where the bows sway (at him) gently.

nineteen minutes. sehyoon is asleep. it’s ten-thirty— not early, not late, but. sehyoon hums a little when he unfastens the garter belt, and (with some difficulty and a lot of drifting off), dresses him a pair of white sleep shorts. the covers had fallen to the floor and byeongkwan scoops them back up, tucking himself into his sehyoon hyung’s side.

 

byeongkwan loves sehyoon when he’s like this— asleep, hair falling over his eyes, shirt slipping off one shoulder. long eyelashes that draw spidery shadows across his cheeks. one of his studs shine from the earlobe, silver again. smelling like— mint toothpaste, and byeongkwan’s orange body scrub, and— _something else_ , something lovely and sweet yet sharp and _dangerous_ yet soft, welcoming, warm—

linking his fingers with sehyoon’s, he watches from the corner of his eye as the lines in sehyoon’s face melt away, pink lips parted slightly, breaths in and out with a _whoosh_. and he’s so— _so_ beautiful, byeongkwan thinks, that even the full moon peeks in to watch over him, shining down the rise and fall, rise and fall, of sehyoon’s shoulder.

“i love you, hyung.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr @dumplingyin  
> twitter @yinsums


End file.
